


Sparks flying with the promise of flame

by sprx77



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, F/M, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Spirit Animals, fight me in the streets, i know im shocked too, it was a prompt, its het, this ship is a classic, yep you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 23:40:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: In a world where benders are either Sentinels or Guides, Katara and Zuko have been harboring a very obvious secret. When Zuko joins the party, they have to address the elephant-shark in the room, and all it means.





	Sparks flying with the promise of flame

**Author's Note:**

> I'm shameless so I announce where I've been for four months in the end notes. In my defense it's a pretty good excuse lol. Have some Zutara, requested by a wingman!

“You know what we are, then.” Zuko says to wary frustration. “I wasn't sure, in the catacombs.”

“Of course I know.” Katara snaps. She takes a deep breath around the heaviness in the air, the unspoken truth between them.

Even know it's a weight on her tongue, threatening to choke. She has to swallow hard to resist.

In the past it's been like glass in her throat, the urge to scream and scream.

They're not fighting now, though. Aang and Toph and Sokka are asleep and for the first time, they're on the same side, no instincts screaming, horror and rage strong inside her.

She lifts her chin.

“I've known since the waterbending scroll.”

And hasn't that been a tidal wave of emotion, her tied down and he, an enemy? He took the necklace and fury and betrayal had nearly sent her feral.

But Sokka had come and Sokka was  _ tribe _ , even if Aang hadn't been, yet. She’d reigned it in and kept them safe, no matter how impossible it had felt at the time.

Hala appears before her caught between one step and the next, a lioness padding silently through the grass.

Zuko breathes in sharply.

Satisfaction settles fierce in her chest.

“I think I knew then, too.” He admits, eyes returning to hers. Hala circles him. If he's intimidated, he keeps it off his face.

“You had a funny way of showing it!” She can't bring herself to regret the words, some part of her still reeling from the rejection. But-- no, Zuko doesn't look guilty, either. Good.

“ _Of_ _course_ my Sentinel would be protecting the Avatar.” Zuko snorts, and though they’ve teamed up old bitterness shines through.

The word rings loud in the air. Their secret, finally spoken out loud.

Katara has never been a coward.

“How do you think I felt?” She manages quietly. She’d tried to demand it, but faithful indignation failed her for once. “My Guide is the Crown Prince of the  _ Fire Nation.” _

And Fire Nation meant ‘enemy’ more surely than Water Tribe meant  _ tribe. _

Her heartbeat, a sound she usually tunes out by habit, roars almost louder than the sound of Zuko’s-- the beat she’d imprinted on immediately, all those months ago.

Zuko looks as shaken as she feels, to hear himself named such.

The words acknowledged stretch like a bridge of light between them, ripe with shuddering potential.

His heart is strong, fast, pounding.

“I told myself it wasn't my fault. Necessary, even.” She finds herself saying, grasping blindly. “So I’d know if you were coming-- you kept sneaking up on us.”

“What was necessary?” Zuko asks breathlessly, just making sound. It feels like the words don't matter at all, that they're careening forward to a point they can't come back from, an inescapable and thrilling end they've somehow been building toward with every step of resistance and denial.

“I can pick out your heartbeat from miles away,” She blurts.

Zuko blinks. “Really?”

“Ever since then.” She confirms.

“Ever since the pirates.” Zuko breathes. “Wow, no wonder I never got away with anything.”

He looks at the big cat in a new light. His chest rises with a careful inhale, eyelashes dipping down briefly. When gold eyes find hers again, his spirit animal shimmers into the physical realm.

“Tui and La.” Katara’s jaw drops.

“His name is Kaen.” Zuko offers, cheek tilting sideways to rest against the dragon’s, its large head resting on his shoulder. 

“Why did you  _ sail _ after us?” She can't help but wonder. The red dragon snorts.

“I couldn't just abandon my crew!” Zuko protests, high pitched with the air of a well-practiced argument.

The dragon-- Kaen-- blows smoke into his face and Zuko’s scowl dissolves into coughs.

Very majestic.

It's not what Katara expected at all and she can't help but laugh, surprised.

Both look over to her.

Zuko’s eyes go soft and warm. Her heart trips a beat.

“Sentinel.” He says, wondering.

She never thought they'd get here, either.

“Guide.” She whispers, because suddenly her hearing is dialed up too high, and even that is like thunder, punctuated by the drum beats of her heart.

“Hey, no--” The smell of sudden worry, sharp and spicy and then hands, on her cheek, immediately distracting. Time slows down. She's nearly zoned on the whirls and heat of his skin-- mind greedily making the touch imprint, unbidden-- when, years later, he uses the grip to urge her chin up, and all she sees is gold.

“Come back,” He mutters, and even that's too loud until she forcefully dials down that sense, dragging in air by the lungfulls. As she breathes, his worry-stress smell gives way to caution, a touch of fear.

That snaps her fully out of it.

Her Guide shouldn't be afraid.

“I've managed my zones just fine for years now, you know.” She says weakly; worth it when he laughs, relieved, but the scent of apprehension only rises.

Well, she has a great way to deal with that.

“Hala, kill.”

Zuko’s eyes have time to widen, confusion and fear sparking into his scent pile, and then a lioness has tackled him, heavy paws launching him sideways.

He's a fighter; he knows how to fall. He looks shocked, then conflicted-- and then Hala licks a stripe up his face, just as she, Katara and Sokka had practiced as children.

But Katara has bigger things to worry about, literally, for once, because while Hala has her fun, Kaen-- apparently I'm worried about his human-- beats his giant wings, sending her stumbling.

Retaliation, maybe?

A tail sweeps her off her feet and then there's weight on her chest, a massive neck resting on her. She can't move at all.

Once, not long ago, this would have been-- Well, less “terrifying”, more “infuriating.” It's been a very long time since she was really  _ afraid _ of Zuko-- but now she can only laugh, amused at the turnabout.

Unafraid, she reaches out a hand to stroke the ridge of his brow.

Only-- touching him, she can feel everything  _ Zuko _ feels, a physical manifestation of his soul that she can pet and hold in her hands.

“So I guess you're mine now, too?” She asks the dragon, ignoring the shock pulsing between her palms, the little sound Zuko makes like she just hit him somewhere important.

The dragon eyes her for a minute before snorting agreement.

But then there’s a tentative touch, followed by a surer one-- right down to the core of her. And careful, so achingly careful. 

Her head falls back to the ground, stunned.

She feels from Kaen something like a flower unfurling, soft dawning wonder, and she doesn't have the words for her own emotions but she can feel Zuko’s response to them, a curious and fascinated perspective; his hands in coarse fur, her hands on warm scales, reactions and realizations sliding between them in an endless loop.

It's dragon and lioness who make the decision to end it, gently extricating themselves in tandem. Katara’s hands fall limp; for a confused minute she can't feel what Zuko’s hands are doing, and is distressed. She looks out blankly until the clouds shift, revealing stars.

Did she bend them?

Rational thought returns and her senses open right up, dialed high but not immediately overwhelming.

She tastes the dew on the air, sees dust motes in the light from the distant fire; the wind shifts around them, and she can tell from how it touches the little hair on her arms that Zuko is laying just like she is.

He moves his arms to lay on his stomach; she can hear the distinct rustle, feel the disturbance in the air, smell the pheromones knocked loose and flying as the faint sweat at his joints is disturbed by the motion.

One by one she brings each sense down, until she's barely more aware than the average Mundane. (This, too, she spent hours practicing with Sokka as children; back when it was just the two of them and a lioness on the ice.)

“We have to be careful with that.” Zuko says, still out of breath. His words perfume the air and Katara absorbs them with  _ most _ of her senses.

Then, ever greedy, she finds the strength to turn her head and  _ see _ him. He looks as disheveled as she feels.

“Mmh.” She agrees, slow and languid, inexorably pleased just by the sight of him. “Humans aren't meant to tap directly into the psionic plane like that.” 

She yawns, not even bothering to cover it. And she can't look away, because Zuko is looking right back, pupils blown wide and hair crazy from Hala’s attention.

As an afterthought, she adds, “I'm sure it'll be less overwhelming once we bond,” and lets her eyes slip closed.

She turns down her senses one by one, even further than Mundanes can, a rare indulgence; she can't remember the last time she felt safe enough to dare, even with her tribe around her. They can take care of themselves, of course, all capable in their own right, but it's the  _ point _ of her.

She stands Sentinel over her pride, small though it may be, ears peaked for danger approaching their camp.

But with Zuko here instead of against them, and their seclusion from the world, this high, she lets go, revelling in the peace and silence.

It doesn't last long.

Pressure against her skin, gentle ripples in a still lake; the one sense she can't completely turn off. She dials touch back up slowly and her pulse, so relaxed, dials up with it: Zuko has rolled over on top of her, pressed calf to calf, thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach. 

Turning touch back on makes it  _ feel  _ like he's slowly bearing down on her, though his weight is already fully settled and he doesn't move, staring at her intently.

Allowing herself to feel more and more of the pressure is an awful lot like him  _ giving  _ her more of his weight, which is an incredibly filthy thought to have, especially since she can't help but do it as slow as she can, just to prolong the sensation.

She shudders, enjoying the way it moves him. His pupils contract and expand, breath hitching, but the intent look doesn't waver.

“Say that again.” He asks roughly, the interrogative falling short.

She can taste the grass under his fingers, dew on the air; the night brushes silky between them.

Already control of her senses, so hard-won, comes easier. She doesn't have to wrestle them as much, a marked lessening of resistance when she switches on in favor of another. It's easier to concentrate, even with his  _ distraction. _

“It'll be easier once we bond.” Katara repeats, a tattoo beating at her throat. “When we tether each other to the physical realm, we can't get lost in the spirit world.”

If she felt alight with nerves, boldly pushing past all trepidation, Zuko looks  _ wrecked. _

He could sense her arousal, of course-- but did he know how her palms ached to touch his face, to press their foreheads together? How her skin was alive with a needy hunger that stood entirely apart from the ache between her legs?

How the firelight painting his face with flickering dawn at dinner made her  _ want,  _ the relaxed curve of his features begging to  _ potential _ \-- she couldn't see how they could possibly work, but everything in her insisted: looking at him, soft and happy, face titled to a hearth, was looking at the future.

The best future, a hole in her filled, meeting fate fearlessly with her chin raised bold to the moon.

And Agni warm at her back, Zuko and Kaen as safe and familiar as Hala.

Her heart edged wide open, traitor within her. Her shields were less ‘shields’ than fish netting, a design cobbled together desperately as a child and then improved on when she could, and the sea-soaked ropes swayed like an Avatar-power storm loomed on the psionic horizon. 

The ragged edges, frayed from years constant bombardment no matter how carefully she shores them, threaten to unravel where he comes close. She's no Guide, can't sense his beautiful mind, but his aura this close seems to stagger the outline if hers, her skin-sense tripping haywire trying to figure out what's going on.

They can't; it's not a physical thing, but her skin doesn't stop trying, shivering and yearning all at once.

The places they're touching, however inhibited by cloth, feel set on fire. The scenery around them flickers, scent-sight taking on a confusing overlay. She smells forest and fur, grass replaced by dense undergrowth.

And then it's the air temple again, short grass spilling to the cliffside. It's clear mountain air and then, smoothly intercepting: something older, something primal.

A jungle pulses under Katara’s skin, sweat slicing her neck, shoulders. Only her ears stay on the knoll, attuned to Zuko alone. She couldn't drag her hearing from his racing heart if she tried, drinking in every inhale.

Under her palms, smooth skin swathed with perspiration. When did they rise? Zuko’s pulse is trapped between her wrists, carotid thumping in tune with the drums.

The beat doesn't come from the jungle, she thinks. It's wild in her, thrumming from her bones. It predates the jungle.

It starts quiet, slow; it quickly hits a fever pitch, in line with Zuko’s heartbeat, inline with her own.

The three rhythms synch up and down out  _ everything _ \-- except the strong hands that clutch tight to her shoulders, the line of them pressed to each other and the unchanging earth.

When she build her shields, unguided, untaught, clawing for sanity between zones, a net seemed best: it could keep  _ her _ in, like a school of trout; but she could see through it, reach past it if she needed to.

Over the years it's gone from a child's ugly, misshapen first net to the first net to a chief’s finest weave: knotted strong, of even weight, and sturdy enough to weather any storm.

Zuko’s shield makes hers look like a spiderweb, and it alights in his wake just as easily. It's a gentle thing, but still, she burns, and his shield continues its slow path into the unprotected breadth of her mind.

It's a kind of vulnerable she's never been, not even with Hama bending the very blood of her, the twisted shaman’s wolf spirit with his jaw’s at Hala’s nape.

Naturally, Zuko is gentle. Even better, he doesn't treat her as fragile; precious, yes; and he's so, so careful-- but respect for her strength echoes in his mental touch. He thinks of her as an equal, a partner; he's careful, not insulting, and a wall of golden fire incinerates her fish net and conquers forward. Its elegant, multilayered and absolutely gorgeous. She counts his breaths as he presses their foreheads together and then, slowly, the shield made of dragonfire settles into place in her mind.

“Oh,” She says-- or maybe it's him-- and they look at each other with mutually huge eyes, caught up in the unexpected intimacy.

Zuko’s shield stretches over her mind as easy as anything, a perfect fit. As important as mental shielding is for an unbonded Guide--protection from outside thoughts and emotions constantly vying for attention, unfiltered-- a Guide’s predominant concern, their instinctive, penultimate drive, is the protection of the  _ Sentinel. _

It protected him, but every incredible, impossible bit of it was made for  _ her,  _ before he ever knew what she looked like; before he ever knew her name.

And yeah, as her senses settle around the new edges of her primary shield, and she can relax after over a decade of constant, tooth-and-claw struggle, Zuko looks not smug, but quietly proud of himself, and her breath catches.

In that lull, with everything quiet save the heaving rise and fall of their chests, Katara realizes the drums have stopped.

Everything is clear. Crystal clear, actually. It's like her senses have contracted and expanded like Zuko’s pupils when he caught the rising swell of her emotions, earlier; shattering some invisible barrier as water freezing will expand and destroy its container. 

All trace of the jungle has vanished. There is only the high sweet air of the Air Temple, cool at her cheeks. 

There is no lioness; no dragon.

Katara can feel Zuko, though.

He's there in the back of her mind like a surprised butterfly, unobtrusive presence fluttering around at the corner of her awareness until she turns her whole attention to him.

He is overwhelmingly surprised to be wanted, to be chosen, profound disbelief ringing clear through the new bond.

She curls one hand’s fingers through his without hesitation, a stubborn clench to her jaw.

_ Mine, _ she says with unshakeable conviction, with her scent pallet rubbing claim into his, as though she's the dragon.

They stand, stained with grass and sweat, and Katara looks around with new eyes at the lightening sky. 

Effortlessly, she can see and hear and smell more than she ever dared before, switching and noticing different sensations without fear of getting lost, or zoning-- not with Zuko’s hand in hers there to guide.

Dawn reaches over the horizon a thousand different shades of purple, reaching into the black, pink and orange and searing yellow in its inevitable wake.

It's  _ incredible.  _ She reaches instinctively to share it with Zuko, awed to find he's right there, reaching back, joining easily in her excitement, seeing the world through her senses.

The sun rises slowly over the cliff, bronzing everything in glorious detail.

And happiness thrums a golden band between them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yo so I still don't have any free time on account of I legit joined the military and my life is not my own to schedule, but I've got my phone back so behold, a resurgence of fan fiction! Prompts are open on my blog for any fandom/ship/kink, for Valentine's day. No promises and I'm typing entirely on mobile so be patient, but have at It!


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